


The Set Ghost

by sailorkittycat



Category: British Actor RPF, Phantom of the Opera RPF
Genre: F/M, Ghost!Tom, Halloween, Mysterious Stranger - Freeform, Phantom of the Opera - Freeform, au!tom, ghost - Freeform, possessive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8685046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorkittycat/pseuds/sailorkittycat
Summary: Christine encounters the infamous ‘ghost’ who haunts the set





	

Christine’s favourite time of the day, by far, was after rehearsals. For the first time after a long day of reciting lines, the set was quiet. It was just her and the studio. It didn’t even matter that there were no crew members, let alone an audience, it was everything she wanted.

Getting into acting was hard. Being a brown girl getting into acting was even harder. Christine had taken role after role in small, independent British films but this was her big break; a small, supporting role in a big Hollywood film. Her co-stars were acting royalty (if there was such a thing) and although she hadn’t had the chance to talk to them, one on one, she was sure that when they had time out of their busy schedules, they would love to grab coffee with her and talk about acting. Well, at least she hoped something similar would happen.

Still, until potential coffee dates and life changing roles could happen, she had her stage. Maybe it was a little weird to be hanging out on set after hours, especially since she had heard the rumours about the set being haunted but Christine had rolled her eyes at that.

“He was that actor, Tom Hiddleston, the one who suffered a terrible accident on set.”

“Now he haunts the set!”

“I bet he’s watching us right now.”

Christine had simply laughed at the stories; it was ridiculous. The ghost of the recently deceased Tom Hiddleston? Haunting the set? Preposterous.

Then she saw a shadow.

“Hello?” She called out. The shadow had moved, disappearing back into the darkness as if it was never really there. She shook her head, she was being stupid. It had been a tiring day; it was just her low energy talking. She cleared her throat, opening her mouth again to recite the lines she knew by heart.

“I’m just trying my best to make a mark on the world, Erik” she began, her voice climbing as she became more confident and lost in the scene “I just want to sing but I can’t do that if you’re going to be like this…” Her voice cut off, tears blurring her vision “you’re too much and I can’t do it anymore” she whispered, imagining her scene partner in front of her. Her legs were weak and she sunk to the ground, weeping over her fictional failed love once more. She was so lost in the moment that when a hand rested on her shoulder, she didn’t flinch; instead thinking that it was Erik’s.

“Please don’t cry, my angel” someone whispered, finally making her snap out of it. It was Erik’s lines but the voice wasn’t Erik’s. It sounded deeply rich, yet still velvety soft. She knew she should have screamed but no sound left her lips. The man stayed stock still as she tried to make out his features in the dark, but it was difficult to see anything in the minimal light, although she could have sworn he was wearing a mask. His skin looked far too smooth to be real, though, it could have only been a half mask, for the lower portion of his face looked a little more human.

“I-Wha-Who are you?” Christine whispered, trying to sound authoritative, though she sounded anything but.

He offered her his hand and she hesitated before taking it. It was cool. If his hand wasn’t so soft, she would have thought it was made out of marble. When she rose to her feet, he let go off her hand, bringing his thumb up to brush away the stray tears on her cheek. He must have been a head taller than her, which didn’t inspire even a shred of confidence but if he was a murderer, he was being awfully gentle.

“You’re such a wonderful actress” he mused, his hand remained on her cheek, caressing her tear stained skin “it’s inexcusable that nobody else notices that.” His voice sounded harder and Christine could just about make out his lips pressing together into a straight line.

“I wouldn’t say I was wonderful” she confessed, her cheeks felt a fraction hotter than usual at the unexpected compliment “I’m just trying my best.”

“No, no, Christine” he said, shaking his head at her. His gentle hand on her cheek suddenly gripped her chin, holding her head in position while he moved his face closer to her so that his lips grazed her ear “you are perfection.”

An incoherent whimper left her lips; she wasn’t sure what she was feeling. On one hand, she ought to have been disgusted; terrified about this mysterious man, cloaked in shadow and mystery who somehow knew more about her than she knew of him. On the other hand, this enigma of a man was making her wet. Her thighs clenched together, as he continued to scrape his lips against her skin.

“Who are you?” She asked, clutching onto the last scrap of her rationality. His touch disappeared and she was left in the darkness momentarily, trying to work out what was happening. She turned around, wandering about the darkness in search of him.

“Are you him?” She asked, her hands scrabbled about, unsure of where she was going.

“Are you that actor? Hiddleston?” Her voice was bordering on hysterical now as she continued to seek. 

“Are you the ghost?” She hadn’t noticed how late it had gotten until that moment; it was almost pitch black now and she was desperate.

“Are you frightened?” She heard him ask behind her “Are you afraid?” His arms locked around her waist, so that her back was pressed against his chest.

“I…” Christine couldn’t articulate what she was feeling at that moment; was she scared? “No” she decided “I’m not scared.”

“I don’t want you to be fearful of me, Christine” he admitted, eliciting a quiet gasp from her as he laid a kiss on her neck. His grip on her tightened as he pressed his lips again and again against her, despite his lips seeking a new area of her neck each time, it still received the same reaction. Christine shivered in his arms, even though her skin felt hot from his touch. She had never been with a man before. Usually, she’d close her eyes and imagine someone else caressing her; worshiping every square inch of her body; pumping their fingers in and out of her. This was no figment of her imagination though.

“Consider me your secret admirer” he murmured, one hand was firmly holding onto her waist and she could feel his fingers digging into her soft flesh. The other, had meandered up her body, leaving a wake of goose bumps. A near silent moan left her lips, sounding much louder due to the stillness of the room but it didn’t hinder his actions. His hand crept up, beneath her lavender coloured jumper, cupping her left breast.

“Exquisite” he whispered, feeling her nipple harden under his skilful touch. His breath sounded ragged now and felt scalding hot against her ear, making her whimper again. Her head had lolled back onto his shoulder. She wasn’t sure what he was wearing, but the material felt silky soft and she found her eyes closing as she succumbed to his touch. She was so lost in the labyrinth of pleasure constructed by him, that when his arm barred itself underneath her breasts and his other hand delved beneath her skirt she didn’t flinch.

“How long have I wanted to touch you like this?” He groaned at the discovery of her damp panties “How wet you are for me” his voice had dropped an octave, sounding akin to a purr now.

“I-I’ve never” she struggled to find the right words; to tell him that she had never had a man touch her so intimately.

“Shhhh Christine” he breathed “do not fret; let me express my admiration for you.” She hesitated for a moment but she whispered a quiet agreement and relaxed her thighs, spreading her legs a little to accommodate his fingers. He tugged at the material of her underwear, letting them slide down her legs and she stepped out of the fabric.

He was gentle. His index finger ran up and down her slit, distributing her juices over her sex, while she softly mewled. He circled her throbbing clit a few times, before he brought in his thumb to sweep over it. She cried aloud for the fleeting swipe, wanting it again. He rewarded her with another, making her buck her hips in search of more.

“Do you like it when I touch you here?” He held the pad of his thumb against her clit, making her whine and grind herself against him desperately “tell me.”

“Y-yes I like it” she said, half embarrassed by the words spilling from her mouth. Her embarrassment was lost as soon as he started to swirl his fingers once again, making a litany of moans stream from her lips once more. She should have been mortified but it was difficult to feel anything beyond heady pleasure.

“You feel like a dream” he hummed, as he slipped in a finger. Christine gasped; his digits were far longer and thicker than her own, stretching her in a way she had never experienced. She was grateful that he was slow. It had taken her a few moments to adapt to the sensation but once she had, she found herself urging him to go faster. He had obliged, moving at a quicker pace to entertain her cries. Her hips thrust in time with the salacious rhythm he was conducting, almost riding them.

“Cum for me” he demanded, sensing the end of their time together. Her body willingly obeyed; her walls tightening around him as she cried out for the last time. Her body shook so violently as her orgasm ripped through her that he had to hold onto her even tighter, to stop her from collapsing. He peppered her neck with soft kisses and sounds of praise, as she struggled to catch her breath.

Her head still rested on his shoulder and she opened her eyes, catching sight of the outline of his face. She wanted to reach up and touch him but her body felt spent; she was devoid of energy. She wanted to close her eyes and fall asleep but the niggling realisation of what she had just done; what had just transpired between her and this mysterious man; this ghost; this phantom… It forced her to stay awake. It wasn’t so much guilt or disgust, she was simply in shock. What had she done?

“How I love you, my Christine” he said, his voice was so full of emotion that she felt her heart skip a beat, although later on she’d detect something a little sinister behind his words. A man who she knew nothing was confessing his love for her.

“Kiss me?” She asked shyly, although she wasn’t sure whether or not he’d grace her with a response. Surprisingly, he lowered his face and pressed a tender kiss on her lips. She still couldn’t make out his features, not that it mattered, she couldn’t remember what Tom Hiddleston looked like, his death had happened years ago. The only thing she was sure about was that he was wearing some kind of half mask now. She wanted to feel it; to see what lay beneath it but he pulled away quickly.

“You’ll see me again soon” he reassured and he started to loosen his grip on her, her hands tried to catch his, to urge him to stay but he had faded back into the shadows, almost as seamlessly as he had come from them.

“Remember Christine” she heard a voice – his voice – speak “I’m always watching.”


End file.
